BitchCraft
by eyong.tambe
Summary: It's almost a month since Cordelia Goode gloriously ascended the throne as the new Queen Witch in town, but her victory doesn't last long. Her plans to thrive in the new world has backfired! Now exposed to the public, Cordelia and her new council, Zoe and Queenie and the new students of Miss Robichaux's Academy are being hounded down by religious heretics...
1. Chapter 1

Three

"Suffer not a witch to live! That is a commandment from the most high himself. These-women-or witches or whatever they call themselves are nothing but the devils whores. They have traded their soul for power, fame and beauty!"  
It was just a little past three in the morning, three weeks and three days after their coming out. The covens, that is. From her bedroom, the newly appointed Queen of the Witches heard every syllable of every word. Even louder than the echoes of the cheap megaphone the preacher used this early morning to address the thousands of anti-witches gathered just outside the black antique iron gates of Miss Robichaux's Academy was the unconcealed contempt, woven into every sentence as they rolled off his tongue.  
"Right here, behind these gates before your very eyes, these women fornicate with the devil himself. They pleasure him, and in return, he grants them whatever their hearts desire."  
Cordelia tosses and turns, exhausted but unable to sleep. This night, like many before it had proven to be a challenge for the new Supreme. Since the day of her ascension to the throne as Queen Witch, these religious heretics had started gathering in front of the Academy. At first, they protested silently, rightfully frightened, as they had no idea just what calamities these so-called witches could invoke. 

_I should have stopped them. Maybe if I had intervened right from the start, this nonsense would have died along with Fiona._

But, she hadn't. Against the better judgment of her then equally newly appointed council, she had chosen to play it safe.

_'These are sensitive times'_, Cordelia had said to Zoe and Queenie that first night the Academy had opened its doors to the public. _'These people are not our enemies. They're just confused. It's up to us to educate them, and make them understand not all magic is evil.'_

That was the plan. They'd be patient with the world, until the world became used to the idea of real life witches, then they would venture out, using any means possible to explain their existence, and assimilate into society. But things hadn't exactly gone as planned. The numbers of the anti-witch protestants had more than quadrupled since then, blocking off the roads for another half a mile. Thousands of churches from around the globe had pitched in to help the prostrations, donating tithes and offering to help fund and feed the heretics. Jackson Avenue had turned into a police patrolled encampment zone. Their protestations only growing louder and rowdier as they demanded the government release the witches to them for a _good ol'_ hanging. Or drowning. Or burning. Whichever they deemed most the most agonizing to the recipient. 

The very thought of one of her girls dangling lifelessly from a tree sent cold shivers down Cordelia's back. Burying her face wholly against her pillow, the young Supreme released a muffled scream. In accordance, the window to her bedroom imploded with a sharp crash. The sound of shattering glass cutting thin slices into the thick, murky New Orleans air.  
The thousands of Protestants, hearing the sound of the breaking glass had stopped dead in their tracks. Fear creeping slowly into their hearts. Even Pastor Dubois, himself, had halted, mid-sentence, turning around to see what the commotion was all about. 

_At long last, silence!_

Unfortunately for Cordelia, it didn't last long, as Queenie came rushing into the room, looking around wildly, an ornately designed tribal dagger in hand. Zoe and Kyle followed closely behind, holding hands.  
Cordelia jumped out of bed, startled by the sudden intrusion.  
"Is everything alright?" Cordelia asked.  
"Shouldn't we be asking you that?" Queenie responded. Her dagger still raised, ready to attack. "The window in my bedroom just broke. I thought maybe those bastards were trying to get in."  
Kyle tugs at Zoe, motioning with his head towards the broken glasses displayed on the bedroom floor.  
"Yeah, Kyle and I were just in the kitchen, having a late night snack when the glass on the windows and French doors shattered."  
"Oh..." Cordelia muttered, bowing her head, shoulders slumped.  
Zoe and Queenie exchange glances.  
"Did you do it?" Zoe asked.  
Cordelia nodded, as she sat back down on her bed.  
"I didn't mean to, it's just... these powers. I can no longer contain them. I feel like they are about to rip through my skin and flow back into the cosmos. And this..." She points past the window. "Every night! I can't sleep!"  
Zoe entangled herself from Kyle and steps forward, kneeling in front of the now sobbing Cordelia.  
"I'm so tired." Cordelia managed between fits of tears.  
"We can fix that with a little spell I used last week." Zoe says, taking Cordelia's palms in hers.  
"No, no need, already tried the sleeping spell. All I got out of it was a garish nightmare."  
From beyond the walls they could hear the muffled voices growing louder. No doubt, soon enough, the protestants will start chanting and praying, as they have been doing every night for almost a month. 

"Them kids is scared, you know. They always trynna sneak into my room at night. 'Specially that Spanish one, Thea. She real scared." Queenie said. "We need to end this shit now, or everything would have been for nothin'"  
Cordelia nodded in understanding. Of the initial three hundred and thirty three girls that had shown up to Miss Robichaux's Academy on Ascension Day, only thirty three had shown any signs of true powers. But even fewer remained. Most of them fleeing for fear of their lives as the angry mob outside the academy gates grew by the day. Fiona was right, even at her greatest, Cordelia had still fallen short as Supreme. She was so sure it would work. They could cure any disease, they could raise the dead, they could cast peace spells and end wars. With a loaf of bread, they could feed thousands, after all, all it took was a little duplication spell. They could work miracles that would give the Messiah a run for his money. They were real, they were present, not some character in some old text that might or might not have ever existed. But still, here they were, haunted. Hounded.

"We could call the Secretary of State tomorrow morning, I'll ask him to double our guards." Kyle said. "The compulsion spell on him is surely still strong."

"No! That will only make things worse. People already suspect our magic is the reason those guards out front are there, if we double the man power, that will only drive a bigger wedge between them and the rest of us."

"Then what do we do? We only have thirteen girls left, if we are not careful, it'd be down to just three of us again. Right back to where we started." Zoe's words stung, but they were true. Too true.

Cordelia released herself from Zoe's grasp and starts pacing about, anxiously. The noise outside grows even rowdier. Words like whore, devil worshiper, Satanist being repeated over and over again. As if to add salt to injury, Pastor Dubois' megaphone screeched on, and seconds later, his voice is again heard.  
"See? See what I've been saying all this while. Their lover has arrived, it is his presence, can't you feel it? His essence covers that house. Look at those windows, he brought with him destruction." His voice rings through, even louder through the house now, with the open windows.

"What do we do?" Zoe asks, again, this time firmer, demanding an answer. Her tone does not go unnoticed by Cordelia who looks up at the girls. Her eyes barely meeting theirs before they are down casted, again.

"I have no idea…"


	2. Chapter 2: The Council

Queenie, Zoe and Kyle walked down the majestical staircase silently. Each in deep thought, as the hot night air violently wrapped itself around them, coaxing its way into their lungs.

They moved in unison through the white walled hallway of the building, none admiring it's delicate, simplistic grandeur. These were no longer the hormonal young adults that had walked through those same hallways less than a year ago. No, they were all new creatures, born again, if you will. In three weeks they had learned more spells and devised more survival plans than in all their previous months at the Academy combined. They were knowledgeable, they were confident. They had to be, after all, they were The Council.

Now in the green room, Zoe made her way through the brushes, expertly picking leaves from different plants, while Queenie and Kyle stood on opposite ends of the wooden table in the center of the room.

"_Whatchu_ doin'?" Queenie was the first to ask, her eyes following Zoe around the room as she dashed from one end to the other. In a second, Zoe was standing by Kyle.

"Baby, I told you not to do that anymore. It's too dangerous. What if you land in the middle of a wall or something. Remember what happened last time?"

"I've been practicing, I'm better at it now. Open." Sorting a few of the leaves she had just gathered together, Zoe held her hands up to Kyle's face. Kyle opened his mouth, Zoe stuffed the herbs in. In a nano second she was standing by Queenie. "Your turn."

"Oh hell nawh. What the hell is this shit."

"It's a mind sedative and stimulant." Queenie stared at her confused.

"Think of it as a contradiction, like a Starbucks. It relaxes the mind, while enhancing positive focus at the same time. It's what I've been using these past weeks. How do you think I've managed to stay so cool about everything?"

Zoe did have a point, Queenie noted. Usually, she was the weakest of them, quickest to panic when shit hit the fan, but, somehow during these past weeks, she and Kyle had been the calmest in the Academy.

"Eat some first." Queenie shot back. As much as she wanted to wholly trust her fellow council member, she just couldn't bring herself to do so. After all, the former council had met their demise the same way.

Zoe placed some of the herbs in her mouth and chewed, visible irritated. Queenie reluctantly opened her mouth. Zoe fed her the leaves.  
Almost immediately Queenie could feel her muscles relax, as the herbs worked their magic.

They all exchanged glances.

"Calling the council into order!" Zoe's voice was youthful, yet firm.  
"First things first, how do we get rid of those bastards outside?"

"I can take care of that." Kyle spoke, his voice equally as firm. He might not be as powerful as the girls, but he was no mere human, either. Against the witches he fell short, but against the humans, he could definitely put up a good fight. This was his school, his home. These were his girls. He was willing to die, again, defending and protecting them.

"No!" Zoe quickly interjected. "There's too many of them. They could hurt you, maybe even..."  
She let the word hand in the air.

"What other choice do we have? We're running out of options... Miss Cordelia should be here, helping us make these decisions."

"Let her sleep. Ain't like she gonna say anything helpful, anyways." Queenie said. Zoe had finally succeeded in convincing Cordelia They had all watched her quick decline following following the Ascension. Almost as abruptly as she had gained all that glorious power, so had she lost it. She was back to being the Cordelia they were accustomed to. Fiona's fidgety, self-doubting potion making daughter, not the Supreme they needed during such troubling times. As much as they all hated to admit it to themselves, they needed something different. Someone opposite to Cordelia. She had to be cunning, and manipulative and without fear or remorse.

Queenie knew understood what she had to do!

_Referte ad me dolor! _

Instantaneously Queenie fell against the hard surface of the green house, her big black body, writhing as she cried in pain.  
Zoe and Kyle hurried to her side.  
"What happened?" Kyle asked, as they both hovered over her.  
"I don't know...Queenie, what's wrong? Queenie, say something. Damn! Kyle, go get Cordelia!"

Without another word, Kyle jumped up, charging for the exit door. Suddenly, the lights flicker, then go off completely. A cool most sips into the the potted room, bringing with it varying smells. Some sweet and bold, others rancid and vile.  
Zoe shivered. Queenie stops trashing about on the floor, laying absolutely still.  
A tall, drawn out shadow runs across the wall.  
"Who are you?"  
Kyle braces himself, fist raised, ready for a fight. "Show yourself!"

From behind him Zoe screamed. Kyle swiveled around, growling like the guard dog Fiona has enchanted him to be. Starring down at Zoe and Kyle was an unusually lanky Blackman, dressed in formal overcoats and a cowboys hat. His lips pulled apart in a nightmarish smile, revealing fang-like yellow teeth. But the most terrifying thing about this creature hovering over them was not his alabaster white face, or his claw like hands, but those eyes. Glistening red in the darkness. Vicious. Deadly. This was no ordinary apparition. Death, itself, was standing in the green house of Miss Robichaux's Academy.

"What the...what are you?" Kyle managed.

"I was called, I have come." The creature said, almost jovially. His voice rumbling like a silent storm.

Kyle glances at Zoe, questioningly, she shakes her head, no.

"Who-who summoned you?" Zoe's voice was but a whisper in the night.

"I did!" Queenies eyes fly open, she stares up, directly into the glowing red eyes of Papa Legba.


	3. Chapter 3: Papa Legba

Chapter Three: Papa Legba.

Marie's words still rang clearly through Queenie's mind, as she struggled to get up from the dusty floor of the Greenhouse.

"_The spirits admire sacrifice. They pay attention. They visit, they grant. The most assured way to bring the spirits to you is to put yourself in an uncomfortable situation, Queenie. They will hear your plea, they will appear."_

Marie hadn't been wrong. She rarely ever was. For the three weeks Queenie had spent as part of the Laveau Voodoo Tribe, the Voodoo Queen had made certain to train her in the ways of the dark arts. Even though she would never admit it the coven, she had felt more at home with the Tribe, than she did with them. More secure. Marie ran a tight ship, her followers borderline worshipped her. To the few who had been privy into her inner circle, and knew her as _Marie Leveau, l'immortel, _she was practically an embodiment of the spirits themselves_._ They respected her, and she respected them. They protected her the best they could, and she them, which was much more than Queenie could say for the flailing white Coven.

"What was that? Are you okay? What do mean you called him? " Zoe asks, helping Queenie up from the floor.

"Chill, Zoe, it was a simple pain affliction spell, the spirits pay attention to sacrifice." Queenie gushed, as her heart rate to slowed down. She had learned the spell in case of an emergency, a few days ago. There were other ways to summon Legba, but they mostly revolved around drawn out rituals. She now understood what Marie had meant when she had declared her a protégé. Queenie was the best of both worlds, the white coven side of her made it easy to enchant instantly. Something the voodoo practitioners found very difficult to do. Even Marie suffered from this inability. However, because of her ancestral lineage to Tituba, she had been welcomed by the Voodoo Tribe, where the true knowledge of the craft laid. With a drawn Veve, some graveyard dust, fresh warm blood and a vase of poultice mix, ten white witches had nothing on a Mambo. That is why they had survived so long. They may not have been able to flip over buses with a flick of their fingers, or set ablaze a house by sheer will, but they had an unrivaled understanding of the supernatural, and that was more than enough to guarantee the Voodooeines a good fight against the White Witches.

"You called me_, ma petite sociere." _Legba's words rang like thunder through the dark room, sending shivers down Zoe and Kyle's lower backs. Queenie had summoned Papa Legba before on multiple occasions; she was used to his dramatic flairs.

"Yes, Papa Legba," Queenie said, slightly bowing her head as a sign of respect to the African deity, "We need your help Papa."

"We do?" Zoe said, finally catching her breathe. The longer Legba lingered in the room, the more light headed she felt. Without even realizing it, her nostrils had adjusted to the sweet smell of death surrounding them, one could even say, the young witch and her semi-human lover were comforted by its dry intensity.

"Yes, Sabrina, now shut up and let me handle this!" Kyle sensing the hostility in the room stepped forward, hands balled in a fist.

"It seems my presence is causing a little disagreement amongst _les amis_, perhaps you should call me when you all on the same page, no?" Papa said, his body seemingly fading into the mist that covered every surface of the room.

"No! Papa, please, hear me out." Queenie says stepping forth, reaching for Legba, but her hands only grasped the air where his apparition had been.

"I have come to like you, _ma petite sociere_, don't make me change my mind." Legba's hot breathe against the bare skin of her neck. Even his breathe smelled of funeral wreath. The proximity of his lips to her skin made Queenie gasp, so much power. Queenie swiveled around, falling on her knees. She had suffered excruciating pain to call him out of hell; she was not going to let him leave without granting her wish. "What is it, child, speak!"

"We need something you have in your possession."

"Something… or someone?"

"Someone, Papa." Queenie knew this was the only way. She had learned more than the dark arts from Marie. She had learned the art of sacrifice. She needed to do what needed to be done. Something she knew neither Zoe, nor Miss Cordelia might ever understand. But, the sacrifice had to be made.

"What are you talking about, Queenie!" Zoe decided she had had enough, she wanted answers. "Queenie, talk to me, what the hell is going on here!"

"I thought as much! If you want something of mine, you have to give me something in return." Legba's stayed fixed on Queenie as he spoke. It was just the two of them, Zoe and Kyle didn't exist. They didn't understand. See, Papa Legba had known Marie wouldn't stay in hell long, she was too smart, too cunning; and her following was too loyal. It was only a matter of time before they came asking for her soul back, offering theirs for her freedom. But why Queenie chose to invoke him in the midst of her sworn enemies was what he still struggled to figure out. "Marie is a favorite of mine, you see, _ma petite,_ her company in hell, I adore very much. So, if you want her back, a great sacrifice will have to be made in return. A sacrifice I don't think you are ready to shoulder."

"It's not the Voodoo Queen I want, Papa. It's the Supremes' spirit I want to bargain for." Zoe gasped; Kyle clenched his fist even harder, his nails digging into the flesh of his palms. Even Papa Legba had not expected such a request, especially not from one already dedicated to the Laveau Tribe.

"No!" Zoe spat out, infuriated. After all they had done in an attempt to send the old bitch to hell, here was Queenie, a member of the Council,

suggesting that she be resurrected. "Fiona stays dead!"

"We need to bring her back if we want to survive. Cordelia can't protect us, you know this!"

"I don't know about you, Queenie, but I can protect myself just fine!"

"Yes, YOU can protect yourself. What about the others? What do we do with them?" Queenie had a point. As powerful as they were, they were highly outnumbered and the crowd was only growing bigger. There were only so many spells they could memorize; only so fast they could chant them.

Papa slowly moved around the room, sniffing about, his eyes a mixture of malice and excitement. Kyle too could sense the change in the misty air, being half dead gave him a bit of a foresight into the spiritual world. The hairs on his back stood at attention, cold chills running down his arms and legs.

"But, we thought them spells, they know enchantments…"

"Girl, please! You know those kids can't do shit for themselves. Our gifts are connected to our emotions, the second they start to panic, there goes their powers. They will be dead so fast, they won't even know what hit'em."

"Death" Kyle whispered to himself. He finally pinned it down, that feeling in the air. He knew it all too well, he had been trapped midway between the two world long enough to distinguish what was happening.

"What?" Zoe turned to Kyle.

"You can feel it to, _jeune homme._" Legba spoke this time, almost gleefully.

"Sense what? What the hell are y'all talking about?" Queenie asked, as lost as Zoe. The two men simply sniffed around the room. Finally, Kyle turned to the girls. The look in his eyes… Terror!

_BOOM! _The earth shook underneath their feet, the glass roof of the greenhouse shattered, raining down mirrored debris unto the young witches. The screams of thousands could be heard from beyond the guarding iron gates of Miss Robichaux's Academy. Whatever this was, it wasn't just happening in the greenhouse, it was all around them.

It took over sixty seconds for the earth to stop trembling. There hadn't been just one explosion; there had been five, one after the other. Papa Legba was gone; in the place of his accompanying mist was dust, and smoke, his sweet smell of death replaced by that of burning flesh.

Cordelia jumped out of bed, awoken, yet again by the sounds of voices, but this time, they were different. Desperate.

Cordelia walked to the edge of her window. She gasped. Flames licked the tars and trees on Jackson Avenue, the air covered in soot. Cordelia had never seen so much death. The Heretics, splayed ontop of each other, covered in blood.

_So much blood!_

The young Supremes eyes stayed transfixed on Jackson Avenue, her heart reaching out to the decapitated bodies that lay slain on the tar, her mind telling her to _move! _

"The girls!" Cordelia dashed across her room towards the door. What about her students? The girl who had been entrusted into her care? Where was Queenie? Where was Zoe?

She ran across the hallway, and down the Grand staircase, three steps at a time. Her white night gown billowing behind her as the hot New Orleans choked its way into the Academy. Under the steps, where there had been nothing but a solid wall, now stood an invisible gateway. When the Academy had opened its doors to the public three weeks ago, the influx of young witches had without a doubt proven that the Academy as it was could not contain so much volume. Looking through Miss Robichaux's dynamically vast library of Grimoires, Cordelia had finally found a _Dimensi Manipulus_ spell. With the help of a local architect and her newly formed Council, they had worked as a team designing a miniature concept of the thirteen additional luxury suites that now stood behind the black door. Of course, the old New Orleans mansion still couldn't contain the rooms without a little magical help. Cordelia, Zoe and Queenie had spent a total of seven days, weaving and hexing the house, pushing the scales, creating a whole new dimension under the staircase, and connecting it to the rest of the house through the black door. Inter-dimensional manipulation was by no feet an easy task to undertake, the simple fact that Zoe and Queenie, had not only been able to assists, but partake in the casting of such a complex spell, truly spoke volumes of their growth as women of the craft. Cordelia was proud of her girls.

The girls!

Cordelia now stood before the solid white walls under the staircase. Spreading her arms wide open, Cordelia closed her eyes, concentrating her energy unto the tip of her tongue.

"_Patefacere!" _A slight shift of the wall, and suddenly, a black door appeared before the Supreme. She reached out to open the door.

"Ah!" She screamed, stepping back. The doorknob glowed red hot and liquid like lava. She looked down at her hand as she bit into her bottom lip to keep from screaming again. Her palms were covered in blisters and scorch marks. As abruptly as the door had appeared, it vanished. Cordelia swiveled around at the sound of footsteps running down the main hallway towards the stairs. Zoe, Kyle and Queenie, covered in dirt; Scratch marks on their arms and legs, glass particles in their hairs.

"Oh hell, don't tell me _you're_ doing this shit!" Queenie spat out at Cordelia. Cordelia shakes her head, too pained to speak.

"Then what's happening?" Zoe asked, seeing the horrified look on Cordelia's face. Cordelia took a deep breathe to calm herself.

"I think we're being attacked." Her voice quivered, her burned hand trembled.

"The church people?" Zoe's herbs had stopped working their magic the second Papa Legba had appeared in the Greenhouse.

"Witch hunters!" Kyle growled.

"No! That's impossible! Fiona said…"

"Fiona cut off the stem, not the roots. It was only a matter of time before they reemerged again." Cordelia had been with them that day when they plotted against the Delphi Trust group, unlike her mother, and Marie Laveau, she knew the witch hunters wouldn't just bow to them. The rival queens had been too proud to see the bigger picture. Witch hunters hunt! They were born to hunt. It was in their nature, their sole life purpose.

"The Ramsey house is still empty we can transmute the rest of the girls there, one at a time. That should buy us enough time…"

"We can't." Cordelia interrupted Queenie. "The gateway is compromised." She shows the young Council members her palm. "I don't think we're only being attacked by the witch hunters!"


	4. Chapter 4: The Revelation

The sweat glided down her throat, her fingers, scorched from the heat emitting from the iron rod in her hand. Red hot, so hot!

"No! Please! Not again! Please, not again!" Lalaurie cried, pushing her stubby fingers through the metal gates.

"Shutup!" Marie shot back, her back still turned to Lalaurie's back. "You are the cause of all this! It is all your fault. You! You did this!"

Gathering up her gown around her, Marie walked closer to the girl's cage, the rod shaking in her hand. How long had it been? Maybe months? Years? In the underworld there was no such thing as daylight, no time variant, just an everlasting influx of hot air. So hot!

Marie wiped the sweat beads from her brows and upper lip. "Now, you get to watch this go up her little white back side."

"No! Please, not again! Please, do it to me, torture me instead, not her, not my girl." Lalaurie's cries were lost on Marie, their destinies were set, their fates, sealed. There was simply no escaping hell, not even for the great Marie Laveau. She was forever cursed, doomed to torture an innocent soul as atonement for the many she had offered Legba.

"Shutup, I say!" Marie swung, the rod now directly pointed at Lalaurie. "Do you think I want to do this?! Huh! It is your fault. You dragged these girls into your sadistic acts! You forced them to spill blood, and they died before they even had the chance to purify themselves. That's why they're in hell! You sent them to hell!"

Marie turned back around, seeing the misery in Lalaurie's eyes. How long had it been? How long had she shoved this flaming rod up the poor girls' anal canal? How many times down her throat, all the while hearing her mother screaming less than fifty feet away, her stubby fingers clawing against the metal cage that held her and the rest of her breed captive. What must it have felt like for Lalaurie? As much as Marie wanted to see her suffer, this was not how she had imagined it. She had known the comfort of motherhood once before. She had cooed over her beautiful baby, too. But none of that mattered now. On that faithful night Marie had led her marching Tribe down to the Lalaurie mansion to exact revenge, she had made it clear that no one was to touch the girls, or the husband. No blood was to be spilled. Not even Lalaurie's. She knew the consequences all too well, back then. The plan had been simple, march down to Maison Lalaurie, capture the fat bitch, and parade her around town as a warning to all the white devils who thought it practical enough to torture one of her kind. But it had gone awry far too quickly. The slaves had gotten word of Marie's plan; somewhere between feeding her tears of immortality to Delphine Lalaurie, and taking Bastian's brutalized body home, the slaves had marched into the Lalaurie mansion, set it ablaze, dragged out her daughters, taken turns on top of them, and hung the poor bitches for the world to see. She had never intended for them to die.

But, again, it did not matter. The act had been done, and upon her return, as disgusted as she had been at the vileness of her own people, she was still Marie Laveau, and they were still her people, and the fire ignited by the sight of all those poor tortured bodies in that attic still flamed too hot within her to look upon Lalaurie with any sense of compassion. So, she had worn a brave face, as the Queen of her people she had sentenced Lalaurie to a life below the surface, close enough to hear the world still existing nut never knowing the pleasures of truly living again.

Now, their fates were sealed, eternity, together. Forever and ever.

"I don't want to do this. This girl ain't done nothin' to me, Papa. Please, I don't want to do this anymore." Marie dropped the rod. Every muscle in her body ached, her fingers shot out, reaching for the floor, the rod. "I can't do this anymore. Please, papa! Please!"

"Then don't." A sweet voice said.

"What'd you say?" Marie asked, turning to Lalaurie.

"I ain't said nothing." Lalaurie said, her eyes wide open, gaping at a fixture behind Marie. "she did."

Marie turned around slowly. The first thing she noticed were her toes, chipped and bloodied, barely covered by the torn oversized black dress that hung from her shriveled bones. Her breasts where almost non-existant, her hair covered in a white puritan bonnet. Her smile, oh, her smile, like the first rays of sunlight after a great storm. Was she here? Was she real?

"Jesus?" Just another example of Marie's true mortal age, she had been raised in the days of self-righteousness. So, even though her stance as the Queen of voodoo was well known amongst all in New Orleans, she was always saved a front row seat in the Parish house not too far from Congo square. Marie knew Jesus.

"No, child," the voice called out. "Jesus has a thing dangling between his legs. Try again, you know me well, child, you know me well." And suddenly, it was clear to Marie who she was, the owner of the sweet voice. The puritan attire, the jet black skin. The grass whipped bare feet, the voice. The voice. She knew that voice; she had heard that voice call out to her before in her dreams. That voice had told her stories about the journey across the ocean. That voice had comforted her during those stormy nights living in the bayou as a young girl. That voice!

"Tituba."

"I know him!" Queenie jumped out of the chair and walked towards the aged, mini-T.V. to get a better look. On the screen, was the image of a chiseled black man, dressed in entirety in dark clothing, standing amongst the religious heretics on Jackson Avenue. On the side of the screen, the time read 03:33:31. Two seconds later as the recorded time chipped down, there was an explosion, the ground shook, screams were heard, and the screen went blank.

"That is the last recorded footage from the streets of Jackson Avenue before the explosion that is making headways around the world. Upon breaking into Miss Robichaux's Academy, or as it is popularly now called, the Devil's Den, agents of Homeland Security have reported to have found no individuals residing within its walls. As of this hour, there is a nationwide bounty on the heads…" The television goes blank.

"Dammit!" Queenie banged against the TV, trying to get it to turn back on. "I told Marie to change this damn thing!"

"You said you know him?" Cordelia said, pacing about. Since they had arrived, the Supreme hadn't settled on any of the furnishings.

"Yes, I know him very well. I saw him a few times in this very room; he was one of Marie's men." Queenie said. "Sit down, Miss Cordelia, you know the chair don't bite, right?"

"I know, it's just… being here, in this room." Cordelia looked around, taking deep breathes to calm her nerves. It felt like a lifetime ago since she had first stepped foot into Cornrow City. She had been so oblivious then, so ill-informed as to the battle between her people and the Laveau Tribe. Fiona hadn't done her job as the reigning supreme to teach the younger generation of the ongoing war. And, then there was Hank. She could still recollect clearly that morning, the news, the video tape, the gun in his hand as he marched into Marie's hair Salon and killed everybody in it.

"Well, this is the best place for us to be right now. They're accusing us for killing all those people, even the freaking CIA are on our asses." Queenie plopped down on the chair behind the desk, exhausted. All that transmutation had done her in. From house to house, from the Academy, to the Ramsey house, to the next to the next, until they had finally arrived at Conrow City. Atleast, here, she was certain they could buy themselves enough time to figure out just what the hell was going wrong with Cordelia's powers.

Suddenly, there was Zoe and Kyle, standing in the center of the room, in his hand, Kyle had a brown paper bag.

"Shit, Sabrina! Can you like, give us a warning before dropping in."

"Sorry, I didn't have time, you know, since the whole freaking world is looking for us." She takes out a can of Campbell's soup from the paper bag and tosses it at Queenie. "Dig in."

"Finally!" Queenie gushes as she tore off the metal head of the container.

"So, what have you two decided is wrong with the portal?" Queenie and Cordelia exchange looks. Queenie shrugged. "The fuck, guys! Those girls couldn't have just disappeared into thin air!"

"More like sucked into oblivion." Cordelia said. "The portal connected the dimension we created, with our physical realm. Now that the portal has been compromised, that means the connection is broken, those girls could be anywhere, floating through time and, they could be stuck in the sixteenth century, on any planet…"

"But, how! How did the connection break?" Kyle asked, breaking open a can of soup and passing it over to Zoe.

"I think it has something to do with my powers. The spell required a foot hold in this plan in order to properly connect to it. So, I linked it to my powers."

"Miss Cordelia!" Zoe called out.

"I know, I know. But, the supreme witch line is eternal; it's the most powerful force on earth. I didn't know my powers will start acting up like this. I still don't know what went wrong." Cordelia buried her hand in her arms.

"Wait!" Queenie said. "Miss Cordelia, earlier when we came into your room, you said it felt like your powers were trying to crawl out of your skin, right?"

Cordelia looked up, nodding. Queenie sat quietly, looking about, calculating.

"What is it?" Zoe asked.

"I think I know what is wrong with your powers." Queenie finally spoke.

"What?!" Zoe interjected.

"We've been looking at this all sorts of wrong, Miss Cordelia. That was definitely one of Marie's men we saw on the TV, now, what would he be doing amongst those Christian bastards?" Queenie asked.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Zoe asked.

"Think, Sabrina! Cordelia is losing her powers, there are explosions killing thousands right infront of the Academy, we're being haunted…"

"Yeah, because the witchhunters are back!" Fired Kyle in defense of Zoe.

"No, Zombie brain! The witch hunters hate witches, true, but they can't work magic! They can't mess with Miss Cordelia's powers."

Cordelia shoots up, finally understanding.

"It's not the witch hunters, it's the Laveau Tribe, the Voodoos. They're waging war on us."

"Exactly! Marie has been missing for over a month, it only makes sense that the Tribe will be looking for her, besides, who else apart from the witch hunters gains most from us being haunted and killed off the face of the earth?"

"So, what you're saying is, they blocked off Cordelia's power, and some guy from the voodoo tribe set off the bomb…" Zoe chipped in.

"And the blame of course all falls on the Coven. We are already outnumbered, and now they have taken my powers…Oh, my God, they're using the rest of them, to finish off what Marie couldn't. The whole world wants our heads on the steaks, we're as good as dead."


	5. Chapter 5: Beast

None of it mattered anymore. Not his name, not his family. Not those fools he had once so happily parraded around as his friends. None of it mattered anymore.

He walked through the rowdy crowd of young partiers, as they grooved and grinded against eachother. The men thrusting their pelvises forward, letting their youthful urges take control, forgetting all sense of reasoning. He had been like them one. Out of control, lost. An empty vessel willing to try and do anything to fill the void. He smiled at the irony of it all. Alive he had been dead, but now... Well, now, he was something entirely different.

He swaggered his way to the furthest door of the club, where two bodyguards stood-hands crossed, dressed in black-solid as steel.

"Stop there, this place is off limits, little boy." One of the guards said.

"The bathroom is that way, kiddo." Said the other, next to him, pointing to the otherside of the room.

"I never said I was looking for the bathroom." His gentle voice cloaked by the loud banging dance beat in the room.

"What was that?" The first guard spoke, leaning towards the young boy.

Big mistake.

His big body dropped to the floor so fast his head didn't even get the chance to register what happened.

"What the-"

"Shh!" The young man said, slamming his palm against the mouth of the other bodyguard, the force pushing the big black man backwards, into the wall. "Take me to your boss."

Blackie had known many thugs in his time, so, it took alot more than muscles and tattoos to scare him. He was a survivor. A figther-and a damn good one at that. Infact, Blackie had been so good that he had managed to get scouted by Ramon at the tender age of fourteen, when the ganster had seen the skinny chav holding his own against two grown men during a street fight. Blackie was swift, and versatile. He was vicious and unyielding. He never fought to win. No, that was too simple, Blackie fought to maim. To dicapitae. And in all his eighteen years as one of Ramon's goons, that is exactly what he had done. Why then was he leading this young cracker into Ramon's inner sanctum? What was it he had seen in the young man's eyes that had rendered him completely, and utterly powerless? Why in fucks sake had Ramon pissed himself? Ramon didn't understand, but he knew better than to question.

Ramon accompanied the young lad into the gathering room, where Ramon's goons centered. The young mans eye's danced around the room, instantly taking in the numbers. Seven.

"Nigga, what the fuck do you think you're doing, bringing this cracker here." One of the goons said, as they all stood and stepped forward, defensively guarding a locked black door at the other end of the room.

"I-guys-chill-I-" No matter how hard he tried, Blackie just couldn't get his tongue to co-operate. They could see it in his eyes, Blackie, one their fiercest fighters, was scared shitless.

"I ain't trynna repeat myself again, nigga. Who the fuck is this?" The guns had been pulled out, raised and pointed.

The young man steps forward.

"UNLESS YOU WANT YOUR BRAINS ALL OVER THIS FUCKING FLOOR, NOT ANOTHER FUCKING STEP MOTHERFUCKER!" He meant what he said, his fingers were pressed against the trigger. All he had to do was apply a little pressure.

"Come on, gentlemen, no need pulling out your guns at little ol' me." He dared another step, until he was standing directly infront of Blackie. Both hands raised, his right index finger pointed at his upper breast pocket. "May I?"

The goons exchange worried glances.

"Slowly. Don't try anything funny, now." The young man dug into his suit jacket

"Besides, didn't your momma ever teach you never to bring a gun to a knife fight?"

The disgruntling sounds from the break room sipped through the cracks of Ramon's office. The wet squishiness of blood and the loud crackling of breaking bones were unmistakeable. Ramon shuddered at the idea. He reached under his desk to make sure his antique Smith and Wesson Magnum handgun was still attached to it. The weight of the gun gave the gangster some comfort. Very little comfort.

The door is kicked in. The smell of sulfur flooded into the room. Blood.

Ramon bit his lips in anticipation. Should he shoot first and ask questions later? Should he wait and see who walked through those doors? Should he... Ramon gasped. Not in his wildest nightmares, had he thought such a thing was possible. He had expected anything but a cracker who couldn't have been more than twenty-two years old, dressed in a black double breasted, hair sleeked back—Sinatra style—to come strolling into his office. His black all black outfit was covered in thick, red liqiud. Blood. In one hand, the young boy held a delicately designed tribal dagger, dripping with blood, in the other he held an organ. From the way it still pulsated, Ramon knew well, it was a human heart.

"What the hell are you?" Ramon spat out, his fingers gripping the trigger of his handgun hidden underneath his desk. The mouth pointed directly at the young man.

"I will be asking the questions here." He said as he took the leather sit on the other end of Ramon's desk. Aligning his chest perfectly with the gun Ramon had pointed at him. "You are Ramon?"

"Yes."

"I have it on good authority that you and a few others of your kind had a truce with Marie Laveau. She keeps you invisible to the police forces, and you offer your goons to her services whenever she requires?"

"How do you know that?"

"Answer the question Ramon."

"Yes."

"Good." the young man smirked. "It is with a heavy heart that I have come here to pass to you and your brothers the sad news of the fall of _l'immortel_. Marie Laveau is dead. Forever gone."

"That is impossible!"

"Console yourself how ever you please, it is true. This leads me to the next reason for this visit. As of today, New Orleans is no longer Voodoo territory, the White Witch Coven of Salem now claims this land as it's own. Any who wish to continue their—less than moral—dealings within it's borders will answer to the Coven. Any who wish to challenge this authority will have me to answer to—and thrust me when I say—my girls can do a lot worse to you than I can."

The young man dropped the now dead heart infront of Ramon. It was all too much for the aged geezer. He leaned over his chair and vomited.

"Make sure to pass the message along." The young man stood up and headed for the exit door.

"And who do I say the delivered the message?" Ramon managed, still contemplating whether or not to pull the trigger.

Tucking the dagger back into his breast pocket, the young man smiled. His eyes dancing with the gleefulness of sadism.

"Tell them the name is Bishop. Kyle Bishop."


	6. Chapter 6: Freedom!

"How is this possible? You shouldn't be here,. You of all shouldn't be here amongst the damned." Marie managed, her voice as small as ever. She couldn't believe her eyes, finally, before her stood a face to the voice. That voice of memories long lost. But, how could it be possible that the woman who had nurtured and sung sweet lullabies to a youthful Marie could be in a place such as this? What unforgivable sin had Tituba committed that had earned her a first class ticket to eternal enslavement?

"Neither should you, baby girl." Tituba said, leaning forth, her rough skin gently caressing Marie's face. Marie gasped. Tituba was ice cold to the touch. How long had it been since Marie had felt such a sweet sensation? The warm embrace of a lost love, the coldness of a frozen lake in mid winter.

With Tituba's touch came a lifetime of memories almost all forgotten. In a place where time had no significance, Marie had come to lose all hope of ever being rescued. After centuries as the Voodoo Queen, Marie had learned, much like every other leader, the importance of keeping a very close-knit network of confidantes. Too often she had made the mistake of blessing others with her sacred teachings, and too often they had gone astray. Some had used the power to amass a world of fortune for themselves, others had used it to wreak havoc upon innocent lives. Snatching young children from their families and forcing them to learn the ways of the ancestors in hopes of building a Tribe that could rival Marie's following. They even became so powerful that they challenged Marie's ruling and status in society. For those whose hearts were far too contaminated by greed, Marie mercifully sent them six feet below ground level to find rest amongst NOLA's great roots. For the rest, like Ramon, whom she loved too dearly to permanently dispose of, she banished them from her tribe, denying them any further access to the aid of the spirits, thereby forever limiting them and the damage they could do to the craft. Marie had done good work, but, kneeling before Tituba now, Marie doubted every decision she had ever made whilst wearing the heavy crown. Maybe if she had just allowed them continue their practice, someone, anyone would have been able to search below the physical realm, and sent her a helping hand.

"My poor child, what has this place done to you?" Tituba could see the fragments of what Marie had onese been still hovering deep inside, through those dark eyes of of hers. The shadow of the Queen still lurked about, even in hell. "There is hope, yet, my child. I know a way out of this place. I can take you away from here.

"How?" Marie blurted out, her curiosity momentarily overshadowing her doubt.

"In due time Marie, but first, I need you to promise me something, dear child." Her eyes bore holes right through Marie's shield. Her face hardened. Tituba took a step back, withdrawing her fingers from Marie's face. Immediately, the heat of hell enveloped the space, scorching away any evidence of the coolness that was there but a second ago. Marie craved that coolness. She yearned for that coolness. Tituba's coolness. Tituba her savior. The only one to reach out to Marie when all hope was lost. Tituba.

"What do you want me to do? Anything! I will do anything, I will promise anything!" Marie cried in desperation, crawling across the hot floor, reaching out for Tituba, who dodged her desperate fingers. Yes, hell had done a number on Marie, but that was all in favor of Tituba. Finally, she would have a chance at a fair fight. How funny fate was, dooming her, then giving her the key to unlocking her freedom. Who would have thought that the little girl in the bayou shack house Tituba had frequented would be the Skeleton Key?

"What I want is simple, child. I want to release me!"

"How can I release your soul, when I don't even know how to release mine?" Marie asked.

"It is not my soul that is captured, Marie. If I were dead do you think I will be able to escape my hell? I need you to release my body. Wake it from the sleeping hex those bitches put it under! Promise me you will do this for me Marie. Promise me!"

"I swear it! Whatever it is, I swear it! Please, just tell me how to get out of here! Please!"

"What about me?!" Lalaurie screamed from her cage. With all that was going on, Marie had forgotten all about the other captives in her hell shack. "What about me? My girls! Please, tell me how to get out of here and I promise, I will pay you a million times over. I am wealthy! Very wealthy! Isn't that right, Marie. Tell her Marie!" Lalaurie's fingers reached further through the iron rods of her cage.

"Oh, I know who you are! I know you very well, Madame Delphine Lalaurie. I know you had wealth, and status. I know of your mansions all over the world. I also know well of how you tortured so many of my kind. You are no different from those who did this to me. You are no different from dirtiest scum!"

Marie couldn't help but smile. Finally, someone else saw Lalaurie for what she truly was.

"If you don't let me out, I will tell on you two, so, help me God, I will! That foul demon will be back soon enough to mock at my pain, I will tell him YOU, ti—tu- What'd she call you, Tituba! Yes, that's it, YOU, TITUBA, let Marie out!" Lalaurie was desperate. Unlike Marie, she had never had any hope of ever fleeing her hellhole, but, there she was, standing right in front of her. Her escape. Her only chance to never have to witness the torturing of her daughters again. She would take it, her life literally depended on it.

"By then you will be too late, Lalaurie. This is where your journey ends." Tituba turned to Marie, her hand stretched out. A maternal smile dancing against her lips. "Take my hand, child. It's time to go back home."

The blinding white light had started to fade out. Marie's eyes slowly adjusted to the dark surroundings. Marie wrapped her arms around herself as a gust of wind blew through her gown, sending goose bumps down her spine. Marie shivered.

Cold. So Cold. Marie let out a thunderous laugh! Her whole body vibrating with happiness. It had worked! Tituba had released her! Her hands shot out on either end, feeling her way around. Brushes, tall leaves. Tree barks. Lot, and lots of tree barks. Marie's feet reacting before the rest of her mind did, carrying her to an unknown location.

"Tituba! Tituba!" Marie's teeth chattered, scraping against each other. Marie had never been happier to feel the winter breeze against her black skin. She let out another joyous laugh! These bushes where very unfamiliar to Marie. She had never known a place like this, not whilst she still lived on earth. Surely, if only she could find her way to a main road, she could hitch-hike a ride back home. A little compulsion spell should not be too hard to work up on a driver. She was free. She was free!

"Tituba!" Marie looked around. Was it the cold? The voice sounded unfamiliar. Maybe, it was the excitement that shadowed her formulating the word.

"Tituba! Tituba! Queen of the witches! Tituba, Queen of the witches!" Marie was more than certain now that it wasn't the cold. She hadn't made that call. Actually, she was certain there were more than multiple voices, harmonized in the chant.

"Tituba! Tituba, Queen of the witches!" Marie followed the voices, allowing her instincts to carry her through the dark forest, and closer to the sliver of light she could now see emitting through the brushes.

"Tituba! Our Supreme Queen! Tituba our Supreme!" Marie bursts through the leaves into a barren circle of land, surrounded by oaks. The small fire in the center illuminated the faces of the seven girls who had gathered around the fire. All of them dressed in their thin white sleeping gowns. Their bare privates clearly visible underneath the translucent material as they prostrated before yet a figure in the center of the circle. Marie gasped. Tituba hung in mid air, hovering over the small bonfire. Her arms outstretched, as gusts of wind blow her gown every which way, exposing her nakedness. She was a sight to behold. So, majestic.

"Tituba! Our Supreme Queen! Tituba our Supreme!" The girls chanted. Marie let out yet another gasp, as understanding finally settled in. She was back on earth, no doubt, but not her earth. Not her world. Not her time! Marie was in Salem. Marie was witnessing the crowning of the new supreme. The first supreme.

Tituba was the first supreme of the Salem Witch Coven.


End file.
